


Where There Be Dragons

by whentheyfall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Drabble Collection, Eventual Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Female Harry Potter, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Geniuses, Good Tom Riddle, Humor, Kleptomania, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Psychology, Redemption, Teenage Tom Riddle, Weirdness, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whentheyfall/pseuds/whentheyfall
Summary: The life and times of Thomas M. Riddle, dragon-in-disguise and wizard extraordinaire.(Or, rather than a teenage girl, with his obsession with sparkly objects and priceless things, I propose Voldemort is actually a dragon. This says more about teenage girls than it does Tom.)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Comments: 138
Kudos: 222





	1. magpie part one

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first crack fic! We'll see how crack-y it actually turns out; feelings are my lifeblood and I eat angst for breakfast. Or that's what I tell myself at least.

When he was nine years old, Amy Benson called Tom a magpie. At first, Tom took offense, being nine and ignorant of avian pursuits, only knowing the common sayings of bad luck. Naturally, he set her pillow on fire and stole the first book about birds that he found.

After reading it, Tom rather thought he was right to take offence, given that magpies were considered thieves, egg-stealers, and harbingers of evil. But people bowed to magpies to ward off ill fortune, and Tom liked the sound of that. He could also admit readily, if only to himself, that nicking everyone else's valuables was a favorite pastime of his.

So Tom decided that intended insult or not, he greately appreciated the compliment. He so rarely got them--only from strangers or teachers who didn't really know him at all, just the face he put on for their benefit. A compliment...It was like a little treasure just for him, to tuck away in his chest. 

Tom had been reading about Ivan Pavlov's experiment, and believed that through extrapolating from it, he could condition Amy into giving more compliments. More little treaures that couldn't be stolen.

To do this, Tom set himself one of his hardest tasks yet: returning a stolen item. It was a necklace, old and truthfully not shiny at all anymore. He kept it only out of spite, but now there was a better use for it.

Tom knocked smartly on Amy's door. It was Lizzy who opened it, the new girl with the awful scraggly hair.

"Tell Benson to come here," he ordered. The girl drew back, eyes going narrow.

"Well I won't if you're so rude--eek!"

Tom brushed passed her, forcing the door open with a little nudge of his powers. Amy Benson was sitting on her pillowless bed, surrounded by several other girls. Her face was red and puffy.

"Get," he said. They got, leaving Amy all on her own. Beatrice had to drag Lizzy from the room. 

"What do you want, Riddle?" Amy said it like she was preparing for a fight. Tom put on his best smile, they one that made adults love him. 

"I have your necklace," he said, pulling it out. "Here." 

She reached out so slowly that Tom was tempted to snatch it away, just to see the look on her face. She grabbed it quickly.

"Why?" she asked warily as she looped it over her head. Tom felt a brief surge of rage--that was _his_ , his treasure--and battled down the urge to rip it from her throat. 

"Because," Tom gritted out, fists clenched so tightly he felt blood start to seep underneath his fingernails. 

"Oh," Amy said, squinting at him sideways. Tom waited impatiently for a compliment. 

"...If you're waiting on a thank-you, you're not getting one. You stoled it from me in the first place."

His irritation peaked.

"It's 'stole', not 'stoled'. And you'd better. Or _else_." 

Amy's face grew red for a different reason now. She looked like she was about to punch him, and he knew she'd do it too. She nearly knocked Billy out cold for flipping up her skirt last month. 

Tom was not Billy.

But finally her fear won out over her anger, and Amy managed, 

"Thank you Tom, very much, for returning my mama's necklace that you nicked. You're such a Good Smarating."

"Good. Samaritan," Tom corrected, his teeth clenched so hard he could hear them grinding together. Amy shrunk back a little, but her gaze was fearless.

Tom turned and left. As he slammed the door shut, he heard Amy's scream of pain as her precious necklace grew hot and melted right on her skin.

He didn't want compliments from a stupid girl anyway.


	2. magpie part two

The second time someone called Tom a magpie, there was even more fire involved.

"Quite the magpie you are, my boy," the so-called Professor said mildly, staring at Tom as his wardrobe burst into flames.

"NO!" Tom shrieked, lunging forward into the fire. His treasures! No!

"Tom!" Dumbledore cried, alarmed, but Tom rifled frantically through his box, touching every item to make sure they were all safe. A rage like no other boiled under his skin.

He slammed the box closed and whipped around to face Dumbledore. Tom was shaking and he hated himself for it. 

"Mine," Tom snarled, clutching it close, far away from the thieving interloper. 

Dumbledore raised his hands in the apparently universal sign for surrender. All Tom wanted was to sink his teeth into the man.

"I apologize, Mr Riddle." Tom hissed. "I believe I have misstepped. But stealing is not tolerated at Hogwarts, you understand."

" _Mine_ ," Tom said again, in no uncertain terms.

"Can you explain to me why you take these things from others?"

"No," Tom snapped. How dare he--? "Get out. Get OUT! _Thief_."

Dumbledore stood, so insufferably serene that Tom found all his anger bursting up out of his control like it hadn't since he was a kid. He shrieked again, somehow not startled at all when it came out pitched and animalistic, not a sound a human should make. The windows cracked, and his bed rattled loudly. 

"Mr Riddle, please be calm. I can promise you, I am no thief. I am here to help you."

"Liar! Tell the truth!" Tom spat furiously, pushing as much power as he could into the command. 

Dumbledore's bushy red eyebrows shot up. 

"Young man, please refrain from such things. I am not lying to you, nor shall I."

"I don't believe you," Tom said stubbornly. A thief _and_ a liar. 

"And is there anything I can do that will convince you I am being truthful?"

Tom thought about it, and as he did, his eyes a lit on the man's pocket watch, chain dangling from his coat pocket. It was gold, pure too, though Tom wasn't sure how he knew it.

"That," he said, pointing. He'd never had a real gold treasure before. He wanted it. Desperately.

Dumbledore stroked his long beard. "Perhaps not a magpie after all, no; something decidedly bigger and scaly."

That didn't make a single lick of sense. Tom didn't particularly care, because in the next moment there was a golden chain in his hand. Tom let it dangle in front of his eyes, awe bursting in his chest. 

"I believe you."


	3. the biggest treasure yet

Hogwarts, Tom decided, was a treasure unto itself. It was the biggest treasure he'd ever seen, but he was determined to possess it. Tom wasn't stupid, of course. It would take him years to be Headmaster and have Hogwarts. He would have to be patient. There were other, smaller treasures to be had.

Abraxas Malfoy's hair for example.

Tom leaned over the golden hair as the boy attatched to it slept. So lovely. It was just a shame it belonged to a such a repulsive weasel. Well, it wouldn't be for much longer. 

Tom raised his wand. He'd researched this spell specially, just for this moment. It would all go according to plan, and he would have the luscious locks of his arch nemesis.

And then the plan went wildly off the rails. Malfoy opened his eyes. Tom froze, wand inches from his scalp.

Malfoy's shriek echoed off the walls.


	4. consequences

"My boy, will you please explain why you were found holding a wand to Mr Malfoy's head in the dead of night?"

Professor Dumbledore was, as always, so annoyingly calm. The same could bot be said for anyone else in the room. Slughorn was swelled like a bulldog, the Headmaster scowled thunderously, and Malfoy vibrated with either rage or terror. It was hard to tell.

"His hair," Tom stated.

"And what about his hair?" Dumbledore asked. At the same time, Slughorn made an aghast noise.

"Polyjuice potion, of course! Someone was planning to steal Mr Malfoy's identity! Mr Riddle, who put you up to this?!"

"It was Black, wasn't it?" Malfoy said shrilly, clutching his long hair with both hands. Tom stared jealously.

"Let the boy answer," Dumbledore said.

"It's...pretty. His hair. I wanted it."

Silence.

Malfoy sputtered like a broken faucet. "You--that's-- _what_? You can't be serious!"

"Yes."

Dumbledore clapped his hands cheerfully, standing up.

"Well, that settles It! Tom, the next time you feel the urge to take something shiny and golden, do please remember to ask first."

"Dumbledore! You can't be saying you believe the boy!"

"Preposterous, Albus, utterly preposterous!"

But Dumbledore leaned down and whispered first in Slughorn's ear, then Headmaster Dippet's. Their faces cleared of confusion.

"Oh Merlin. Not another one."

"Why did you not inform the staff before, Albus?" Dippet sighed. 

Dumbledore shrugged.

"I wanted to see what would happen, mostly."

Tom couldn't help but grin. Maybe Dumbledore wasn't so bad after all.


	5. welcome to the club

The day after Tom's failed attempt to acquire Abraxas Malfoy's hair, Professor Dumbledore met Tom after his last class.

"Here to assign my detention?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. But also to extend an invitation. As you no doubt have noticed, you are not an ordinary young man, even among wizards. There are other girls and boys with...similar differences, and they attend a club every Saturday at five in the last room of the Charms corridor. Don't be late, child."

And then he walked away.

Tom almost called after him to ask about the detention. He snapped his mouth shut. That was stupid. And if there was one thing Tom Riddle wasn't, it was an idiot.


	6. welcome to the club part two

"Welcome to the Creature Club!" A very brown Hufflepuff enthused. Her eyes were glowing, and not with happiness either. They hadn't done that ten seconds ago. Tom looked around the room, taking in the changes in the wizards around him.

Belladonna Zabini sprouted twisting black horns and claws. A Ravenclaw he didn't know had furry ears and a tail. That loud Gryffindor, the one with the awful messy hair, stretched out feathered wings with a groan of relief.

In fact, the only people who still looked like normal wizards were Tom and Filius Flickwick. But Flickwick was already unnaturally short, with long hands and...were his teeth always that pointy?

"A warm welcome to our new member, Tom Riddle!"

"Greeetings, Thomas."

"Hi!"

"Welcome."

Tom nodded awkwardly.

"The name is a bit misleading, to be honest," the glowing brown Hufflepff continued. "Seeing as a good portion of us have the blood of magical Beings, not Creatures, but what can you do? We're all friends here."

The winged Gryffindor whistled loudly. The Hufflepuff rolled her eyes and grinned.

"Anyway, let's start with introductions. My name is Euphemia Hill, and my great-grandmother is a member of the Seelie Court."

She gestured to the next person in the circle, an older witch with dark hair and very red lips.

"I'm Celestina Warbeck, and my ma is a siren."

"Bella Zabini. I am a descendant of the Unseelie, and no, that does not make me mortal enemies with Euphemia."

"Filius Flickwick at your service. My mother is a goblin of the Goldflame Clan."

"Fleamont Potter! We don't really know where we get our wings, but family legends say our ancestor was Maleficent of the Moors. Wicked, right?"

"I am Vixen Glass and my great-something grandfather was a kitsune. I'm well aware of how terrible my name is, which is why you will call me Vix. Or else."

Then it was Tom's turn. 

He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. He would not be intimidated. 

"Tom Riddle. I am not currently aware of who or what I am descended from."

The Hufflepuff--Euphemia--left her chair and crouched beside his. Tom did not lean away; that was rude, he had learned recently.

"It's okay if you don't know. You were raised by muggles, yes?" 

"Unfortunately," Tom said, and his stomach churned angrily at the thought of all the shiny things he could have collected--Galleons first and foremost. 

"S'all right, kiddo. Think of it this way: you'll get to have an adventure! It's something of a right of passage for Undetermined students to research what they might be."

Tom looked up, and Euphemia mistook his interest for nerves.

"And don't worry if it takes a few weeks, or even months. Elliana Williams, our last muggle-raised member, didn't find her ancestor until the last month of school! And she turned out just fine!"


	7. discovery

The next day, Tom tracked down Euphemia in the corridor between Charms and Herbology. It hadn't taken much effort to acquire her schedule. She was a Fourth Year, which meant he needed an older student, but the Slytherin upperclassmen wouldn't be caught dead talking to the resident Mudblood, and the other Houses wouldn't consort with a Slytherin, First Year or not.

So, Tom decided a couple of harmless threats were in order. 

He stuck as Abraxas Malfoy was leaving the loo. He grabbed his collar with one hand and slammed him against the wall. His other hand wrestled the idiot's wand away.

"You're going to do something for me, or you'll find yourself bald for the rest of your life." Tom paused, mindful of Dumbledore's advice. "Please."

It panned out quickly. Euphemia startled when she saw him, but her face spread into a welcoming smile.

"Tom! Did you have a question?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

"Dragon," he said, and walked away. He was going to be late for Herbology. In the reflection of a conveniently placed shield, Tom relished the expression of absolute shock on Euphemia's face as her books tumbled from her arms.


	8. king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one...I am not happy with. It's, I dunno what it is, but I am not satisfied. Probably be going back and editing it later.
> 
> Whatever, I hope y'all like it anyway. We get some worldbuilding here, not much crack, so I promise a double dose for next time.

By the time the next meeting rolled around, the other six members of the club knew Tom was a dragon. Or part dragon. Showing dragon-like tendencies at least. 

"But how do you know you're a dragon?" the fox girl asked, eyes narrowed. "You know, the most dangerous and powerful of magical creatures?"

Tom bristled at the implications of that.

"Extreme thirst for riches. Territorial. Affinity for fire. Thief...though I prefer to think of it as reacquisition."

"High intelligence," Flickwick added, eyes shrewd. "Cunning." 

"I, for one, believe Tommy," Potter said, slinging an arm around Tom's shoulders. Tom stiffened. The birdboy yelped and jerked away, his arm steaming.

"Don't call me Tommy."

Potter laughed and waved his wand over his burnt skin, healing the damage. 

"You're cute. I think I like you, Tommy."

Tom snarled.

"Horrible temper, check," Warbeck said. She leaned forward and planted her chin in her hand. "It does seem to fit, does it not?"

"Not until he Manifests, it doesn't," Vixen Glass denied. "Approximately one in a thousand dragons ever take a humanoid form, and the last recorded instance was before Hogwarts was built! There's just no way."

Tom bared his teeth at her. "I am not a _liar_."

"Sure about that? The color of your tie says otherwise."

"Vix!" Euphemia snapped, eyes flashing gold. 

"What? Come on! None of the rest of you find it the slightest bit suspicious that the kid learns he's got creature blood one day and pops up the next claiming he's descended from the King of Creatures?"

Tom went still. King?

"If dragons are Kings, then why are they kept on reserves like common animals?" he asked. King. He could be a King. But if the title was just a formality, he didn't want it.

"They're less reserves and more like homes. Dragon reserves were created when the Statute of Secrecy was instated, as one dragon sighting could ruin the whole thing. Most of the dragons agreed to relocate in exchange for truly exorbitant bribes, and wouldn't want to leave even if they could."

"And the dragons that didn't agree?"

Euphemia winced. 

"Well...they were hunted down in the next few hundred years. Either they agreed to migrate to a reserve or, well, they were killed."

Tom stood.

Glass stared at him, utterly unmoved by the account of the supposed Kings of Creatures forced to abandon their territory or die. Tom couldn't stomach the idea. The very thought of abandoning Hogwarts, his beautiful, perfect treasure, had heat rising under his skin.

"Tom, are you--?"

"No," he said truthfully. He was not okay. He needed to burn something.


	9. crown

Tom walked out of the Charms corridor and ran straight into the second tiniest wizard he had ever seen, dressed in deerskin trousers and an odd shirt that looked like it was made from leaves.

"Hello Your Majesty," he said dreamily, bobbing his head in a bow. Tom had no doubt he was being made into a bit of fun for the boy.

"Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop," Tom hissed, going for his wand. The boy blinked wide silver eyes at him, that creepy smile never fading.

"The humdingers told me."

"Explain," he ordered. Tom hadn't heard of any such thing, and he'd finished reading the Third Year textbooks last week.

But instead of obeying, the little boy--he didn't even come up to Tom's chest, though he had to be a Second Year because Tom didn't remember his Sorting--reached into his pocket.

Tom's felt his eyes go huge.

He reached out to touch the slender braid of starlight and quicksilver. Unicorn hair, enough to make this circle of rope, no wider around than the shaft of a quill. It must have cost a fortune.

"How?" he breathed. " _Why_?" 

The ridiculously tiny boy beamed a ridiculously tiny beam. "You're going to be a King. And until you grow your own, you can't be running around without a crown."

He lifted the braid up, and Tom crouched so he could settle it on his head. It fit perfectly. 

"What is your name?" he asked once he'd stood back up. 

"Goodbye, Your Majesty. I'll see you soon."

And then he was gone. Just gone. He didn't pull out a Portkey, Tom didn't hear the crack of apparition, and the boy hadn't so much as touched a wand.

Impossible.

Tom turned on his heel and strode back the way he came; he had questions, and they would be answered.

To the Library.


	10. fae

Apparently Tom had just been crowned by a fae. A month ago it might have been the most exciting moment of his life, but Tom found himself slowly becoming accustomed to the wonderful, impossible things that befell him since he met Dumbledore.

Still, it was hardly just any Tuesday. He was a King, a dragon among wizards. He had been selected by the mysterious and powerful fae, gifted a crown--which he was never taking off, ever--made of one of the rarest substances in the Wizarding World. It wasn't as pretty as Malfoy's hair, but it would do.

Of course, he'd also just learned that his kind had been forced to abandon their territory for the sake of the same muggles that had been harassing Tom all his life.

But he had a crown. A _shimmery_ one.

Tom weighed the pros and cons, head tilted to the side. His people trapped and betrayed. A shiny status symbol. He ran his fingers across his crown and smiled.

Worth it.


	11. freak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the Crack and Angst tag comes into play.

Even before Tom walked into his dorm he knew there was going to be trouble. The entire Common Room, filled with rich, stuffy Purebloods that usually wouldn't even look at him, stared as he entered.

He ignored it--let them stare, he was a _King_ \--and went to the dormitory with his head held high.

Malfoy stood very slowly, a nasty smile creeping over his face. 

"Look at this," he cooed. "The Mudblood Princess has found herself a tiara. Where'd you steal that from, freak?"

Tom had expected this. He raised his chin and glared. Nott, the only one with any sense, faltered a bit. Malfoy and his sycophants sneered.

"It was a gift," Tom declared. "And Abraxas, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty'."

Malfoy gaped, astonished for one beautiful second, before the entire room burst into laughter. Not even the mean kind, but laughter of genuine hilarity, which somehow made it worse. 

"The Mudblood has gone mad!" Lestrange hiccuped, hanging onto his bed post to keep upright. Malfoy was crying from the force of his giggles, and Selwyn had given up the fight to remain standing. All six boys, one way or another, were completely overcome with mirth.

Tom felt the crawling burn of humiliation. For one dreadful moment he wanted to tear the crown off. 

"Thank you, Mudblood," Malfoy sighed, wiping his eyes. "I needed a laugh."

No. Tom wouldn't be throwing away his crown. He'd be throwing Abraxas Malfoy right off the Astronomy Tower.

Tom's wand was in his hand before he knew what was happening. Malfoy had the sense to flinch, but then the sneer was back in full force.

"You know, it's a special kind of pathetic," Malfoy began, "that has the lowest of the low, dirt beneath our shoes, pretending to be royalty. It would be funny if it weren't so disgusting. You're eons away from being on our level, and now you try to Lord yourself over us?"

Tom had his wand. He knew a dozen curses that would have Malfoy begging for forgiveness. So why wasn't he using them?

"No. I've had enough. On your knees, _Princess_." 

Tom went still, and that was all Malfoy needed to strike, disarming him before Tom could get over his shock. 

For the first time since that first week of school, when everybody in Slytherin was testing to see if the resident Mudblood was easy pickings, Tom felt a shiver of fear.

Nott and Selwyn circled behind him to block his access to the door. Black didn't move from his bed, looking on with mild interest. Lestrange and Parkinson flanked Malfoy.

"Kneel," Malfoy said again, pointing Tom's own wand at him. "Or I'll make you."

There was only one answer to that.

"No," Tom said, and punched Malfoy in the face. It was worth it, even when two hexes hit him in the back. Tom fell to the side, stiff as a board with his left shoulder blade a riot of pain.

Malfoy howled, clutching his bloody and clearly broken nose.

"You'll pay for dat!" he snarled, and tried to curse him. Nothing happened. Malfoy threw down Tom's wand and pulled out his own again.

"Sdupid Mudblood wand," he muttered. "Diffindo!"

The flesh along his arm split almost as wide as Malfoy's grin. Tom gritted his teeth and refused to scream. 

Lestrange and Selwyn raised their own weapons to join in on the _fun_. Tom closed his eyes and reached deep within himself. He felt the spells hit him, felt the pain and fear. It wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

Tom reached deeper as he spasmed involuntarily. He'd been reading about creature inheritances, and there was always some catalyst. Fear, anger, despair--they unlocked what was hidden inside. 

Tom found a spark, drifting in the darkness. It floated closer, and suddenly he could see that it wasn't a spark at all but an inferno, buried so thoroughly in the depths of his mind that it was miles away. It was coming, but too slowly. 

He centered himself further, ignoring the pain the rocked his body, and demanded that the fire come to him. 

And it did.


	12. firestorm

Tom's vision exploded with crimson. He screamed like he never had before, mouth opening so wide he though it would tear apart at the seams. 

Distantly he knew the others were screaming too. But didn't care; all he could focus on was the never-ending sea of red, ravaging his body, his mind, his soul. He had gone too far too soon. He should have listened to the warnings in the books. He was going to die!

No. _No_. He was a Dragon! A King! This power was HIS to control, HIS to tame, HIS to use! 

_You--are--mine!_

The fire in him surged in reply, and Tom screamed again, but this time he shoved back, bringing all his will to bear against it. Back and forth he struggled. The fire was slippery like an eel and stung like a nest of hornets.

At one point he almost wanted to give up. The fire roared in response, thrashing against the mental ties that Tom used tok pin it in place. 

It was a long battle. Tom fought for control inches at a time, and every inch took his all. He lost ground as much as he gained it. It wouldn't have been half as hard if the fire would just stay consistent--hot and angry--but instead it seemed to morph from sharp to slick to heavy and thick to light and fierce.

But after what must have been days, weeks--perhaps months--Tom had the fire cornered in his chest, tucked up around his heart.

Firmly he reached out for it, refusing to hesitate, knowing the fire would attack. It rose up to meet him, but it wasn't moving like it was before. This time it was slow, cautious. It twined throughout his mind, probing, testing him.

It grew hotter as it found weak spots, lashing out, but Tom was there to shore them up. And the fire folded. It bowed it's metaphorical head and dispersed like fog in the summer sun.

Tom gasped. 

His senses returned in a flood. What had been weeks in his mind was only seconds in the real world. He opened his eyes.

"Abraxas! Look, he's alive!"

"Ri--Riddle?" Malfoy stuttered. "I--I didn't mean to--to--urk!"

Tom surveyed his hand with detached interest. What lovely claws he had, long and black and viciously sharp. Malfoy continued to make gurgling sounds. 

Oh, yes. Tom was choking him.

He let go and allowed the idiot to scramble away, gulping down air. Tom stood, marveling at the lightness of his limbs. He felt as though he could fly. 

"What _are_ you?"

Tom snapped back to reality. Lestrange looked up at him with teary eyes full of fear. Malfoy was the one kneeling, his hands clutching his throat. Even Black, so aloof and unbothered, plastered himself against the back wall.

"Kneel," was all he said, fire crackling across his skin, smouldering in his blood and bones.

And they did.


	13. all good things

"...And then I choked him. But it was an accident! And then, once I could stand, I left to find Vixen Glass and, er..."

"Rub it in her face?" Dumbledore suggested. Tom nodded, cracking a grin.

"Yes, exactly. Only I never got there because Professor Merrythought found me and made me come to the hospital wing."

"And you say nothing happened between you Manifesting and your arrival in the infirmary?"

Tom fidgeted. 

"Well...not exactly, sir."

"What was it, my boy?"

Tom looked up carefully through his lashes. Dumbledore, of course, looked calm. But he would never be able to forget the burning wardrobe, even if he had forgiven it for a shiny gold chain. 

"You won't be angry?" he checked.

"No, child."

Tom took a steadying breath. "I made them kneel, the other Slytherins in my dorm. That was what Malfoy tried to have me do earlier."

"I see," was all Dumbledore said. 

"I'm not sorry," Tom declared. "I didn't hurt a single one of them, and they did far worse to me. So really you shouldn't be punishing me at all; I feel I have shown remarkable restraint given the circumstances--"

"Tom, you are not in trouble."

"--and detention would be a travesty of justi--wait, what?"

"You are not in trouble," Dumbledore repeated, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. Tom could only stare.

"Why?"

Dumbledore turned serious. "Because I understand exactly how difficult it can be to control oneself in the face of power. You could have done far worse. And you restrained yourself. My boy, I am very proud of you."

Tom blinked rapidly. There was far too much dust in the air for a place that was supposed to sterile.

Dumbledore smiled and stood.

"I shall leave you to your rest. But first, there are a few friends of yours that are most anxious to see you."

"Friends?" Tom repeated. Dumbledore waved a hand and the hospital doors opened. Euphemia Hill, Fleamont Potter, Filius Flickwick, Celestina Warbeck and Belladonna Zabini piled inside moments later.

"Tommy!" Potter cried, throwing himself down on the foot of the bed. "Brilliant, kid, just brilliant! The whole school is buzzing!"

"Are you alright?" Euphemia asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Usually Tom hated people touching him. But this time...it wasn't so bad.

"Yes, fine," Tom said. "Er. Thank you?" 

He hadn't meant it to come out as a question. 

Euphemia giggled, but it wasn't a mean laugh. She touched him again, this time smoothing down his hair. Tom had to actively stop himself from leaning into it. Merlin, what was wrong with him?

"Where's Glass?" he asked to distract himself. 

The group exchanged loaded glances. Finally Flickwick spoke up.

"She's outside. She wanted to have a word with you alone."

"I'll speak with her now," he decided. 

"But we only just got here," Warbeck protested in her pretty, velvety voice.

"Of course Tom," Euphemia said. She petted his hair one more time and got up, ushering the other club members out with her. Just before she left, she glanced over her shoulder and threw him the most lovely smile he had ever been given.

Tom closed his eyes for a brief moment. He tucked the memory away in his mind, another little treasure that could never be stolen. When he opened them again, Vixen Glass was standing in front of him.

"I believe you have something to say."

She snorted and chewed her lip at the same time. "Cocky brat. But yeah, I do. I'm not sorry."

His eyebrows felt like they almost flew off his face he raised them so quickly.

"Not for doubting the accuracy of your claims," she clarified. "But I shouldn't have called you a liar just because you're a Slytherin."

"No, you shouldn't have." 

"Right."

They stared at each other awkwardly.

"Well. I'll, uh, see you at the next meeting, Riddle."

He nodded. "Of course."

And she left, leaving Tom wondering if a not-apology was valuable enough to hide away in his mind's treasure chest. Probably not, but he decided to do it anyway.


	14. come with a price

The whole castle really was buzzing. When Tom walked out of the infirmary, people whispered and pointed and backed away if he got too close. A week ago Tom would have relished the attention, the fear, just like he had the power he had over the orphanage. 

But now...well, fear suddenly felt less like respect. Euphemia's gentle pats were leagues better than a Third Year shrieking and dropping her books when he rounded the corner unexpectedly.

Though the latter was still pretty funny.

It wasn't a mystery why they were all so afraid. The stigma against part-creatures was strong, and the dragon was the most deadly of all creatures, which Tom thought was ridiculous. Clearly dragons were Beings, not mere creatures.

But they were dangerous. And now Tom was dealing with the consequences of that.

"...demon freak should just die."

Tom whipped around, but Zabini got there first. Her hand, abruptly tipped in razor claws, clamped down on the shoulder of the Hufflepuff upper year. 

"Ello luv," she purred. "Would you like to repeat that to the little King's face?"

Suddenly Tom realized Belladonna was one of his favorites. But the Hufflepuff just scowled--well, really he was trying to sneer, but the faces of the Puffs weren't generally inclined to such Slytherin expressions.

"That freak is no King!"

"What, can't you see he has a crown?" she questioned innocently. "Of pure unicorn hair no less."

"It's fake," the Hufflepuff denied. "And besides, a crown doesn't make a King!"

"No, stupid. The King makes the crown."

And then she shoved the Hufflepuff face first into a wall, gave Tom a thumbs up, and caught up with her grinning boyfriend.

Unfortunately that wasn't the only time a student gave him trouble. Fortunately, the other members of the Creature Club were almost always around to back him up.

When he passed a small flame from hand to hand during Defense, Patricia Johnson shrieked like she was dying and told Professor Merrythought that Tom had threatened her. He got a week of detention. The next day, birdboy pranked the girl with tentacles for hair turned all her clothes chartreuse.

A Seventh Year 'accidentally' tripped him down the stairs, so Warbeck 'accidentally' let slip to his girlfriend that he was cheating on her. It was fun to watch him get slapped at breakfast.

Even Glass, though she wouldn't step in outright, tried to help in her own way...

"Think of it this way," she said when Tom came to the next club meeting hexed with boils he couldn't find the counterspell to. "It'll give you thicker skin. Literally."

...Possibly.

But by far the best of all was when Euphemia benevolently and completely unintentionally shredded Professor Slughorn for being a bigot.

"You are a teacher, sir!" she cried out, pulling herself to her full--rather impressive--height. "You have a duty to your students to be understanding, kind, compassionate!"

Tom rather thought Euphemia should go on to be a teacher if that's how she really thought of it.

"You do not belittle students for what they cannot help! You do not act with such blatant favoritism! You do not demand respect while giving none in return! To teach is an honor! A privilege! And you, sir, are _wasted on the profession!_ You ought to apologize to Tommy immediately! Right now!"

And then he _did_. 

So yes. Tom was perhaps crafting a proposal speech in his head. He would need to wait a few years lest he not be taken seriously. Tom could only hope that birdboy, the besotted idiot, wouldn't ask her first. Then again he could always stage a little accident...


	15. explore

As he settled more into his new self, Tom made it a point of testing his new abilities whenever he could. He would summon a flame in one hand while taking notes. He attempted to bring out a single aspect of his physical transformation at a time, like Zabini could.

Charms was for bringing out the claws. Defense for the fangs. Herbology for the budding horns. And during Transfiguration, the only class where he wouldn't get in trouble if we was seen, Tom pulled his scales to the surface.

Once Professor Slughorn asked (very gingerly and with excessive diplomacy) why he couldn't do his practicing outside of class.

Tom replied: "I do practice outside of class. I just didn't figure the Professors would be keen on me lighting their rooms on fire. I'm still working on controlling my breath. And also...I do have a life, sir."

And most astonishingly, he did. Not only was there his club meetings, but he also met up with Zabini, the only other Slytherin, at mealtimes. He spent his free period with Euphemia (and birdboy) most days. Tom and Flickwick would do homework and debate magical theory together in the evenings. 

Sometimes Glass even punched him on the shoulder when they passed in the corridors! Tom wasn't an expert, but he was pretty sure that counted as the 'positive social interaction' stuff Dumbledore was going on about.

So all in all, Tom's life was looking up. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.


	16. conformity

Tom entered the last room in the Charms and immediately knew something was different. Zabini looked furious and Warbeck looked sad, both sitting apart from the others, who displayed a range of emotions from guilty to determined to grim.

 _This is it_ , Tom thought. _They're kicking me out._

Euphemia smiled at him in welcome but it wasn't her usual glowing grin. Tom glared back. He knew this whole thing was too good to be true. They didn't want him around, not really--he was too strange for even the biggest group of freaks in Hogwarts.

"Tom! Take a seat, we have some things to discuss today."

Tom did not sit.

"If you're kicking me out you can do it while I'm on my feet," he hissed. Euphemia recoiled and the rest of them gasped or winced.

"Oh Tom, no!" Euphemia cried. "No, we would never!"

Tom blinked, the heat in his lungs abating slightly. "You're not going to ban me?"

"No," she said strongly. Potter nodded in vigorous agreement. "No, it's nothing like that."

Slowly, Tom sat.

"Then what did I do?" Because there was no doubt in his mind that he had done something wrong. 

"It's nothing much," Euphemia hastened to reassure him. "But it's been two weeks since you Manifested, Tom. And, well, you haven't really made any effort to contain your attributes and abilities."

Tom blinked twice.

"Why would I want to contain them? I'm working on control," he pointed out.

"It's just that...well, it isn't really _done_ to go about with your full Creature appearance. There's a two week grace period for newly Manifested students to feel out their abilities, but you're going to start getting in trouble soon."

Like he hadn't already.

"In trouble," Tom repeated flatly. "For existing."

"Not for existing," she denied. "But showing off how different we are distracts the other students--"

"So for existing."

"In a way," said Glass, rudely jumping into the conversation. "We make wizards uncomfortable. Containing what makes us different keeps them happy and us safe. Of course then we're fairly miserable..."

"I won't do it," Tom decided. "I'm not going to hide. I'm not ashamed of what I am!"

"We're not ashamed!" Potter protested loudly.

"Then why are you acting like it?" he shot back. Flickwick quickly interjected.

"Think of it practically, Tom. Part-creatures face some serious discrimination and danger in the Wizarding World. Deciding not to advertise your abilities isn't shameful, it's pragmatic."

Clearly Flickwick was trying to appeal to his Slytherin side. 

Tom laughed, a high, cold thing that bubbled out of him if its own accord. More than one of his so-called _friends_ recoiled. 

"You think I'm a coward."

"Tom, no--"

"You're the ones who are cowards, really," Tom continued ruthlessly. "You're more than they could ever dream to be, and yet you hide like _frightened pixies!_ "

"Hey now," Potter said calmly, a stark contrast to the way he shot to his feet. "Let's just calm down for a minute."

Tom sneered. "I don't think so."

He turned to leave, only to be blocked by Euphemia. She gazed down at him with wide, earnest eyes. 

"Tom," she pleaded. "Don't go. We're not abandoning you or kicking you out. We just want you to be safe!"

"I'd rather live as myself than survive as a stranger," he said, paraphrasing something Dumbledore had once told him.

He twisted, putting his back to Euphemia, and glared across the gathered Creature Club. "And if any of you feel the same way, come with me."

Then Tom stalked out of the room, unicorn hair crown an impossibly heavy weight on his head. He didn't turn to look if anyone came, but more than one pair of footsteps followed him down the hall.

It was time to show Hogwarts just who they were dealing with. 


	17. rebel part one

Tom had effectively halved the Creature Club. Belladonna, Glass and Warbeck had all left with him. They sat in a nearby unused classroom, silent.

"If they only wanted me to hide what I am, why did they stand up for me?" he asked eventually, voice hoarser than he wanted it to be. Warbeck started to put a hand on his arm before realizing his skin was steaming. 

"Because they do care," Warbeck said, "and they _are_ ashamed. They have good hearts but society has taught them to look down on themselves for being different."

"I wish--" Tom cut himself off, biting his lip hard enough that he tasted blood.

"Yeah," Glass agreed bitterly, leaned forward with her forearms braced against her knees. "But hey, maybe they'll come around."

Belladonna, absurdly, was smiling. Her pointy teeth glinted in the light. 

"I rather think they will," she all but purred. "Little King...how do you feel about a rebellion?" 


	18. rebel part two

A rebellion needed more than four members, but that was okay. Apparently the Creature Club only made up the barest fraction of students with creature or Being blood. They only needed to find out who they were.

For that, Tom had a Dumbledore. As Deputy Headmaster, he had access to the details of each student's personal files, which legally had to include magical inheritances. 

"Professor," Tom began without fanfare, "I'm trying to start a rebellion. Can you deliver these to every student with who has...how did you put It? Smilar differences?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "My boy, I would be delighted."

He took the stack of invitations. Tom smiled.


	19. Christmas Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been pretty crazy for me lately. I moved in with my auntie, who is pregnant and has a four year old. I'm also trying to find a job and help my brother escape from our parents' house. So a lot has been on my mind and writing just hasn't been a priority. This does NOT mean I am abandoning ANYTHING! All of my stories are near and dear to my heart, and will be continued. It's just going to be a lot more sporadic in terms of updates.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the interlude!

Christmas was never something Tom had celebrated before. In the orphanage, there was no Saint Nick or presents under a tree. It was just colder than usual and more miserable, since he had to watch the rest of London put on their holiday cheer. 

Tom didn't expect Christmas at Hogwarts to be much different. So imagine his surprise when he woke up to a dozen wrapped packages at the foot of his bed. He wasted no time chasing his roommates off and diving into the gifts. 

There were quite a few shiny golden things of varying purities, but Tom valued them all. Any gift was a treasure in itself. He also received a handful of books and a pair of thick socks from Professor Dumbledore. He pulled those on immediately. It was hard to buy good clothes when parting with a single coin felt like giving up a piece of his soul. Unthinkable. 

After he had opened every bounty, Tom arranged all of them around him on the bed, sitting in the middle of the circle. A warm feeling, like his dragon fire but so much...weirder, blossomed in his core. Tom found himself smiling at nothing.

Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't swear in the comments. They remind Tommy of the Orphanage, you see, so if you do he'll come for you and burn all your socks!


End file.
